I smile to the woman who crosses the intersection in front of me, riding her bike, her long, wheaty hair mounting the wind. She notices me and, for a fraction of a second, we make eye contact as she smiles back and disappears into the noisy traffic flow as if swept away in a flash flood. Waiting for the light to turn green, my bike seat firmly squeezed between my thighs, one foot pushing against the curb of the sidewalk, I am thinking about death.